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A BAR OF SONG 

BY 

Hen ry E. H a r m a n 



AUTHOR OF 

IN TBACEFT L VALLEY 

AT THE GATE OF DREAMS 

IN love's domain 

GATES OF TWILIGHT 
DREAMS OF YESTERDAY 

Si>6 



The State Company 

pih'.lishers and booksellers 

columbia, s. c. 



I 



Copyrighted^ 191 Jf 

by H. E, Harman 



^ 






DEC -9 1914 



©CI.a;J87881 



i: 



APOLOGIA 

From the passionate mouth 

Of my mother, The South, 

I heard these songs I bring to you ; 

But her flute-like tone 

Alas! is gone, 
So I've had to sing them over anew : 
Yet fortunate notes have come to me 
If I sing one song in the mother key. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A Bar of Song 9 

A Human Creed 99 

A Song 15 

A Prayer 18 

A ^yish 32 

April Rain 50 

Aynl Clouds 112 

April. Dawn 115 

Brook, The 42 

Bitter Fate 72 

Beyond the Congaree 58 

Broken Idols 119 

Crimson Poppy 15 

Denial, The 19 

Deserts Harvest, The 117 

Dreams of Childhood 78 

Earth's Saddest Night 103 

Fear 33 

FrieTidly Shores 82 

For You . 112 

Grecian Vignettes 51 

God Has Been Good 59 

Guilt 70 

Hagar''s Farewell 67 

Inheritance 30 

Love'^s Dawn 75 

Love'^s Little World 81 

Lore\s Captivity 80 

Life 32 

Land of Silence 64 

Lonesome Pine 70 

Love's Song, A 110 

Love of Gold, The 116 

Mockery 33 

Morning 56 

Memories 41 

Master Painter 74 

Novice, The 63 

One Who Loves Life 94 

Old South Farm 54 



PAGE 

Primrose 20 

Point of the Cape 76 

Pioneers^ The 46 

Path, The 65 

Prayer 108 

Road to Enoree 11 

Rose of My Garden 40 

Rosdbelle 113 

Richard Henry Wilde Ill 

^heha . _ 66 

Sea Mysteries 105 

Sand Dunes 35 

Song of the Sea 23 

Summer Clouds 68 

Silent Gods 53 

Sight of You, The 60 

Spirit of Revenge, The 115 

Twilight Hymn 57 

To-morrow's Task 96 

Time'^s Dateless Years 39 

Thrush 39 

Twilight on the Marsh 89 

Tyranny of Law 87 

Timrod, Henry Ill 

Twilight Lure 116 

To Harriet Shelly 73 

To One Sixteen 93 

Unfinished 61 

War 56 

Who Plants a Tree 38 

Where Love is A-Flanie 18 

Womun 21 

Winter Wind 31 

Wisdom and Love 88 

WJien Love Departed 17 

Yule tide and You 13 



A BAR OF SONG 




— "Platjed an olden tunc 
From Youtlis forgotten June.'- 



A BAR OF SONG 

Her wistful glances swept the golden west, 

Where Day had laid to rest 
His sweet faced dreams, entrusting to the Night 

These children of the light. 

She turned about, within the dim lit room. 

Holy with twilight bloom ; 
Then in the stillness played an olden tune 

From Youth's forgotten June. 

Without I listened to the sounds that fell 

Like magic-woven spell; 
And some one opened wide the palace gates 

Where Love, the Master, waits. 

LIFE 

I've heard the blue-bird sing: 

I've walked life's rosy path of spring — 

The golden wealth of summer's sheen 

My wistful eyes have seen : — 

And now the autumn's tint and glow 

Completes the page. Ah ! friend, I know 

Life is a blessed thing. 




"Lifce a ribbon by the sea 
Is the road to Enorce." 



THE ROAD TO ENOREE 

Oh ! the road to Enoree 

Like a ribbon by the sea ! 
Far along the beaches stretching 
Like some faithful master's etching; 

Winding, twisting 

Onward listing 
To some far-off land of story 
Full of hope and human glory ; 

Like a ribbon by the sea 

Is the road to Enoree ! 

Ah ! the road to Enoree, 
Like some olden dream to me, 
Hurries past the forest yonder 
Where each mile seems fond and fonder 
And each turning- 
Brings me yearning 
For the days now long departed 
W^hen my darling, golden-hearted. 

Walked the golden sands with me 
On the road to Enoree. 



11 



Oh ! the road to Enoree 

Where she tohl her love to me, 
"When the cherry trees were sifting 
Sno\yy petals — and the drifting 

May winds dreaming 

Saw the gleaming 
Of the words of loye nnspoken — 
Heard the yows, as yet unbroken ! 

Ah ! the road to Enoree 

Like an Eden is to me. 

Oh ! the road to Enoree 
Like a ribbon by the sea! 

Haye you heard young loye a-calling 

Felt new glory round you falling: 
Maiden glances 
Waking fancies 

Of a new land, full of glory? 

Then you know the old s\yeet story 
Of the road to Enoree 
Like a ribbon by the sea! 



12 



YULETIDE AND YOU 

I 

A winter's sky and stars without, 
Pale moon and memories calling 

Encompass all my world about ; 
God's blessing on me falling. 

A scent of lilacs through the room, 

Like holy incense burning 
Awakens through the twilight gloom 

A lover's ardent yearning. 

Out there the wind sweeps o'er the plain ; 

Within, the glowing embers ; 
Love weaves about his golden chain 

The Yuletide yet remembers! 



Twilight and gloom till all the room, 
Time's prosy things receding. 

While Dreams along the hallway bloom 
And faces smile in pleading. 

As daylight dies from out the skies 
And night bestows his blessing 

I catch a gleam from Love's sweet eyes 
And feel his soft caressing. 



13 



Ill 
Somehow an angel's touch is laid 

Upon the brow of Sorrow, 
And every debt of sin is paid 

With dawning of tomorrow. 

So hang the mistletoe above 
The hallway and the landing 

That one may kiss the brow of Love 
Beside the hallway standing. 

IV 

Yuletide and yon ! a sky of blue, 
Though winter's blasts are blowing, 

Old love remembers and is true 
As yonder embers glowing. 

Yuletide and you ! the sirens sing- 
As in the Grecian story 

And to the Christmas hearth I cling 
With you and all its glory; 

For wintry sky and stars without 
Pale moon and memories calling 

Encompass all my world about, 
God's blessinii' on me fallina'. 



14 



CRIMSON POPPY 

Crimson poppy, bending idly in my garden by the 

wall, 
When I see you maiden footsteps from the orient 

softly fall 
And low whispers from a latticed casement seem 

to call ! 

Crimson poppy from the desert, all the East in you 

is bred ; 
Warmer suns have given colors to your jealous, 

queenly head ; 
All the passion of the tropics in your lazy smile 

is wed. 

Exiled blossom, memory-haunted, one whose soul 

can never err, 
You have taught me tenser passion, like some 

Eastern sorcerer 
And to worship, Arab-hearted, poppy crimsoned 

lips of her. 

A SONG 

No Siren call across a Scythian sea, 
No Circe note upon a rustic flute, 
Nor wine of Proserpine can 'ere dispute 
With Love's soft voice the range of mystery 
That keeps the soul in thraldom absolute 
And to the door of glory holds the key. 



15 




I never knew the joy his presence meant 
— about this ingle nook/^ 



WHEN LOVE DEPARTED 

When Love went out and softly closed the door, 
Then paused to look with pathos in his eye, 
For me the noon-day sun went from the sky 
Alas, and I, 

Who had been rich — was desolate and poor ! 

He kissed his hand from down the narrow lane 
That wound unto our cottage of content, 
Then slowly turned about and outward went, 
Onward intent. 

Never to cross this little path again. 

I never knew the joy his presence meant 

About this ingle nook and down the hall, 
AVhere I so often heard his merry call, 
Until this pall 

Of his farewell brought me my punishment. 



17 



A PRAYER 

Dear God, when day riiiis swiftly in its might, 
With all its glitter and its gaudy haze, 
Its mockish pretense and o'er crowded ways. 

My baser self stalks proudly up the height, 

And I forget Thy constant, watchful sight, 

That, like a sentry, ever with me stays : 

But when the night draws close its ebon veil. 
To hush the laughter and the noisy shout, 
iVnd silence fills the empty street without, 

I see Thy stars beyond the tumult sail, 

Lo ! then I turn repentant, sad and pale 

To plead Thy blessing ere the light go out! 

WHERE LOVE IS AFLAME 

The days fly fast as the years grow older 
And tasks, unfinished, are many the while : 
The winds each Winter seem cold and colder 
And longer the measure of each new mile. 

Yet every Spring sees the hawthorn whiter, 
The daffodils burn with a deeper gold ; 
The sun on the hill and meadow is brighter. 
As the years creep on and the heart grows old. 

Ah ! the years may change and the road seem weary, 
Our dreams may pass, beyond reclaim. 
But there are no days that are sad and dreary 
In hearts like those where Love is aflame. 



18 



THE DENIAL 

The night was cold and Peter's heart beat fast with 

new emotion, 
His lips were white and thin : 
The little court was noisy with to-morrow's strange 

commotion 
That stirred the hearts of men. 

"You know the man", a maiden spoke, "alas you 

are forgetting," 
As Peter turned away ; 
Then like one riven by some dread, brought on by 

old regretting. 
He heard the call of day ! 

Down in his soul the Master's words came like 

the knell of sorrow 
And smote with sudden dread ; 
"Ye will deny me thrice before the dawning of the 

morrow." 
Then lo ! the East was red ! 



19 



PRIMROSE 

Heart of the Primrose, how I have waited 
Eager, expectant, voiir coming each Spring; 
How every tint of yonr blossoms, so mated, 
Rhymed with the garden's most delicate thing. 

Mocking-bird, thrnsh and robin together 
Waited your coming, as eager as I ; 
Singing a welcome, as soft as the weather. 
Wooing yon back with song and a sigh. 

Heart of the Primrose, over and over 
I've told you my love as a lover should tell 
And yet you look shy at the rose and the clover 
And choose all alone in my garden to dwell. 

Welcome my messenger, bringing me glory. 
Linked with the blossoms that cluster in June, 
You come with the warmth and breath of a story. 
That lilts with the notes of a lover's old tune. 



20 



WOMAN 

The Master, in an idle, dreaming hour. 

Flushed with creation's power ; 

Pleased with the work His skilful hands had 

done. 
Pleased with the sea, the land, the burning sun 
Which through the ages, at His word must run. 

Looked for some task his fancy to beguile, 

Just for a little while. 

Of ponderous things : the earth, the sun, the sea 

Full weary-souled was He. 

The storms were taught to guard the trackless 

main. 
The stars to rise, to shine and set again. 
The clouds to fill and weep the April rain : 

All things complete, the Master paused to play, 

Just for a little day. 

Out of the soft, responding clay He made 

A toy, with beauty laid ; 

A woman's form, soft tinted and complete, 
In which all lines of glory seemed to meet : 
And when, within, a heart began to beat 

The Master smiled. His playful task was best ; 

Fairer than all the rest. 



21 




"/ lo7ig for the magical 
mist of the sea." 



nght and the 



A SONG OF THE SEA 

I 

I long for the magical sight and the mist of the sea ; 
For the smell of the wind-swept brine 
And the deep, where the breakers shine, 

With the pleading grief of a lost soul's mystery. 

I long for the smooth-woven, silvery sands of the 
shore, 
With woods to the West, and the main 
Going far to the East, like a chain, 

Whose links run on to the latch of a dreamer's door. 

I long for the sheen of the afternoon sun on the 
sand. 
Smooth, white, when the tide is low, 
And the West with its gold a-glow ; 
When the blessing of rest comes down, 'twixt the 
sea and the land. 

The marsh stretches far to the West with its sad 
mystery, 
Where the sentinel pines rise high 
To mark where its endings lie ; 
To the East is the mist and the gloom of thy end- 
less leagues, O sea ! 



23 



II 

I long for a sight of the sea, when the daylight 
breaks ; 
When the gulls, like mystery things, 
Fly seaward to try their wings; 
When the marsh and the wood arouse and the 
dream of a new day wakes. 

From the far off beach, where shore is broken and 
torn, 
And the adamant rocks abide, 
That embitter the restless tide, 
Comes an endless cry, like a soul that is weary an<l 
worn. 

Ill 

In sorrow I come to the shore when the long rolling- 
waves, half spent. 
Sweep in, like an echo of grief. 
Embracing the beach for relief, 
Then break, and weep, and moan, outpouring their 
sad lament. 

On the welcoming sands, that spread and stretch 
in the afternoon sun ; 
So strong for the lips of the tide, 
So eager to hold and to hide 
The grief of the sea, when its uttermost toil and 
sorrowing has been done. 



24 




'For peace I tvould come when the low-ehbing 
tide is asleep/' 




When my soul reaches out for that unexplained 
lonfjing for prayer . . . I come to the sea." 



IV 



And why should I come to the sad-sounding sea 
with its wail and its woe? 
With its moan on the silvery shore, 
Like a hope that is lost evermore? 
And why should I ask of this weary tide the things 
I already know? 

There is fellowship, kindred and kind, a liking of 
comrades in pain 
With a soul that's sad and the sea— 
A mystery ever to me — 
Yet a bond 'twixt the seeker of comfort and the 
unceasing wail of the main. 



For peace I would come at the time, when a low 
ebbing tide is asleep ; 
When the master, the sea, is a-dream, 
Touched now by the long slanting beam 
Of the sun in the West, as he warms every crest of 
the fathomless deep. 

When courage I seek and for conflict would steady 
my soul for the worst, 
I come, when the sea leaps high, 
In its limitless wrath to the sky. 
And threatens the rocks to withstand a soul that's 
accurs't. 



27 




"/ long for a night hy the sea with its silence 
and stars.'' 



VI 

When my soul reaches out for that unexplained 
h)nging- for prayer 
I come to the sea. And behold 
The deeps and distance nnfold 
A God who is near, and who listens and answers 
me there. 

For the sea is akin nnto God, like the marsh and 
the wood ; 
And softens the sonl of him 
Who prays; for the endless hymn 
That it sings is melody sweet and seals the heart 
for good. 

Who prays at the feet of the sea, Avhen the ebb 
is low. 

Prays twice; for a Godlike calm 

Turns simple prayer to psalm 
And swift the pleas, sea-ldess'd, to answering 



VII 

I long for a night by the sea, with its silence and 
waves, 

And its stai's in the low-bent bine; 

Just these — and a thought of yon — 
To ease the human unrest of a soul that craves. 



29 



INHERITANCE 

I 

I cannot say from whence it came and some would 

tell, perhaps with shame; 
But in my blood the warm South flows and Are of 

Eastern romance glows, 
And burns with steady flame. 

II 

The East forever calls to me; the olive and the 

lotus tree 
Spread their soft shade to rest upon 
My soul, scorched by the tropic sun ; 

Yet desert heat is always sweet 
Where scarlet flame and love are one ! 

Ill 

Perhaps, within some age of sin, 

My father passed as Beduin; 

Perhaps, within my veins there hide. 

The warm bloods of a Moslem's bride ; 

For this I know, the drowsy East 
And dreamy South, with fiery ways, 
Feed my desires, like kingly feast 
And through my blood forever plays. 



30 



I 



THE WINTER WIND 

I 

Spirit of long-lost souls, is yours the voice I hear 
Among the leafless trees without my gate ; 
Is yours the wail, so tremulous with fear, 
Or, in its minor note, so full of hate? 



A world of freedom beckons to your wing; 
Yet freedom's breadth can never satisfy 
Your fated soul, no matter where you fly : 
The starry nights no solace to you bring. 

Ill 

About my cottage eaves you wail and weep, 
And at my cottage door you loudly call : 
All night this cry of sorrowing you keep, 
Until your voice is like some ghostly pall 
That fills my soul and steals the gift of sleep. 

IV 

What were the crimes you did, with keen intent, 
In distant age that caused relentless fates 
To close upon you, ever more the gates 
Of peace, and brought this bitter punishment? 

V 

Without, the night grows colder ; and the busy frost 
Crystals each faded blade with stars of white: 
But lo! until the Dawn's first wave of light 
The sad winds sing their dirges of the lost. 



31 



LIFE 

A little Hiittei- — just time to nttei- 
Some plaintive songs — then day is done. 
One star in the West, a moment of rest 
And then the set of snn. 

Dim shadows playin<i — a time for praying, 
Slow fading of the light ; 
A few words spoken, the sonFs last token 
And then, sweetheart, "good-night.'' 

Life's little flntter — a word to ntter, 
Then lo ! the di-eam is o'er: 
The rain heats fast against the shutter 
And Death knocks at the door. 



A WISH 

If I were king, with a kingly might 
I'd strew yonr path with a royal light; 
Wei-e I the force of the mighty sea 
I'd make yon qneen of my destiny; 
Had I the gifts of a god to give 
Two, endless lives, we two wonld live; 
But as my lot is hedged abont 
Ily lowly things, within and ont. 
This much I crave, of all, the l)est: 
Yonr love; the woi-hl mav have the rest. 



32 



MOCKERY 

I 

From ont Time's closely guarded hoard 
Has come this maxim from afar: 

"The pen is stronger than the sword, 

"Peace miahtier than war," 



The maxim held disciples few : 
Somehow, strife flowed in human veins ; 
Man found it easier, when he slew. 
To blame it on Ambition's gains : 

He saw the gold within his hands, 

But never saw the stains ! 



FEAR 

The day has its thousand smiles 

To caress the heart of man ; 

Joy trails along like a caravan — 

O'er the desert's shining miles ; 
But the night comes on apace, 
With its sombre robe of black 
When a frightened world looks back 
To the daylight's open face : 

And longs for the pale gray light 

That shall lift upon the sky 

At dawn, when the ghost of night, 

Has passed in silence by. 



33 



TIME'S DATELESS YEARS 

A faded stone beside the sleepy Nile 
Marks where a palace stood in ages gone. 
There naught is left but desolation. Lone 
And still the spot, save every little while 
Is heard the groan of Egypt's crocodile 
Where Pharaoh's glory once, unrivaled, shone. 

A wind-swept Palm, living beyond its day, 
Picture of grief, beside the river stands. 
It watches there the constant moving sands 
That through the torrid wastes forever play — 
Mocking the gilded domes of yesterday, 
Turning a kingly wealth to desert lands. 
Time's dateless years know not of human aim. 
Men build and reach for glory and for fame — 
While stern ol)livion wipes, with careless hands, 
From polished stone the victor's gilded name. 



84 




SAND DUNES 

The sand dunes toil by day, by night, 
Under the stars and nnder the sun; 
Their castle dreams of snowy white 
Crumble l)efore the task is done : 

They move about with a slow desire 

Like a human soul on fire. 



35 




The wind, which loves the sea so well, 
Teases alona; the clean white sand 
And weaves above the dunes a spell 
Of pictures wrought by an unseen hand 

Ah ! the wind is always busy there 

Makini>- the shore line bare. 



36 




Here read the wish of a human soul, 
Uneasy, restless, never still. 
Paying to Fate the utmost toll 
Of wants the world can never fill : 

Where the sand dunes rise in the sun today 

To-morrow the waves will play. 



37 



WHO PLANTS A TREE 

Who plants a tree beside the road 
Where man may rest his tired feet, 
Amid the Summer's sullen heat 
And ease his shoulder of its load, 
Well loved is he! God-blest is he! 
Who plants a tree. 

He may have passed beyond recall 
When weary pilgrim by the way 
Its shade may find, at noon of day ; 
Yet blessings on his soul will fall 
And yon can see, how blest is he 
Who plants a tre(\ 

So long as Spring shall wake the green 
Of fluttering leaves upon its limb, 
A deeper hue will burn for him. 
And passing years that lie between 
Will blessings be, for such as he 
AVho plants a tree. 



88 



THE THRUSH 

I 

Fair beyond words to describe, in their soft, lilting 

measnre 
Of rhythmical song, and tilled with some unknown 
pleasure 

Must be that shore 
Which sleeps in peace, low bent by a tropical sea, 
Going far to the South, like the path of one who 
is free. 

Whence now you come once more. 

II 
Earth has no other land than that which feels 

eternal spring 
In bloom, that yet could teach your raptured 
throat to sing 

The songs you've learned: 
Just as an exile, wandering far to the East or 

West, 
Found, after seeing all the world, love's holy birth- 
place best 

And for it sadly yearned. 

Ill 
Your silver note gives to the early dawn of Spring 

its tone 
Of waking joy. And when the dream of loitering 
day is gone. 

Your good-night song 
Smoothes from the wrinkled soul all scars that 

toil has wrought, 
And pays the heavy toll where Sin has stoutly 
fought 

To do my conscience wrong. 
39 



With Yon, dear bird, the whole world sings. And 

where the sloping hill 
Touches the vale, ten thousand daisies lift their 
heads and thrill, 
Because of you. 
The rose is redder, poppies burn, each breeze that 

passes by 
Is perfume-laden, and, al)0ve, the May-time sky 
Turns to a deeper blue! 

V 

Sometimes I think in the mystical tomes of story 
A singer was lost and, forever debarred from the 
glory 

That once she knew, 
Wandered to earth, with no art but her marvelous 

tune, 
And now sings for the comfort of men, in the still- 
ness of June ! 

Dear Thrush, is it you? 

ROSE OF MY GARDEN 

Out in the glow of a summer morn, 
Out whei-e the mists of the gray dawn lay, 
A rose in my beautiful garden was born 
And lived its life through one sweet day: 
The fair dawn passed with no one to see 
This beautiful rose of the morn, save me. 

Into my life, when the youth-spell kept 
Its mystery dreams of the untried years 
The passionate love of a woman swept 
And held me fast, as (me who hears 
A siren's call, yet no one knew 
The joy she brought to my soul, save you. 
40 



MEMORIES 

There are wild sweet songs for the soul to sing- 
In the hnman heart, as yet nnsnng, 
As the timid bird who trains her young 
To higher flights on the untried wing; 

But the songs someday will bud and bloom 

Like an April meadow thing. 

Among the leaves of the Winter pine 
Where the wild winds blow in the afternoon 
One hears the notes of a far off June; 
And through the Jasmine's leafless vine 

Notes sway above the still lagoon 

No mortal can define. 

And when you speak, in your old, sweet way 
As the Autumn shadows fill the room, 
Somehow the smell of the Summer hay 
Floats in, and the April daisies bloom; 
And the light of other days come back, 
While the lutes of Springtime play. 



41 




THE BROOK 

I met tlie brook in lonesome valley, 

Sinoiiig- its way tlii-ongli the snn-lit meadcnys, 

Ey(M-y ri])ple a spray of silver 

And each carrying- its W{dcome burden of May 

blossoms. 
AVhere it tarried in the eddies forget-me-nots bent 

down 
To kiss and caress the cooling surface. 

The brook Inirricd down, down, down 
Through the green vale of the woods, 
Then out aci-oss the corn-gnarded tields. 
Where tall grasses waved above its bos(nn 
And smiled a Summer's welcome 
To every ])assing ri]»]>le. 



42 




The meadow seemed to calm the eager soul 
Of the restless brook, for it slowed a little 
Under the alders and the willow trees, 
As if to rest and think. 
Reaching the wood, it hurried away again. 
Heedless of my pleading to linger for a while 
In the welcome shade of the maple and birch trees. 

"The sea is waiting for me, the great 
Open, majestic and mighty sea,'' the brook replied. 
"I long to be a part of it — to merge myself 
Into yon waiting ocean, even to l)e more 
Than a nameless brook in the highlands. 



43 




"Here I am nothing, there I'll be great. 
I cannot linger in the low-lying meadows, 
I cannot loiter in the shade of alder and willow. 
I love the rocky ledges that drive me forward. 
Onward and outward to the goal of my dreams. 

"I am nothing here — there I shall be great. 
I will be a part of the vast, unknown sea. 
I shall glory in the splendor of storms ; 
I shall leap skyward in breaking waves ; 
I shall toss great ships uj^on my bosom, 
And men shall walk along the beach 
And wonder at my greatness and power. 



44 




Men shall pray to me for peace and mercy 

Just as they pray to a god. 

No, I cannot wait, the sea is calling me." 

And the brook went on and on, to find its way 
Into a stagnant lake — alas ! from which 
Its waters were drawn up by tlie sunbeams 
And sent back to the friendly clouds, 
To bless the fields, in dew and rain 
And put new lustre in the hillside daisies. 



45 



THE PIONEERS 

The great Middle-West, witli its wonderful aecomplishments. 
has left one task undone. It owes to the early pioneers a monu- 
ment that will surpass anything of its kind in this country. 
The subject is so rich in Iiistoric and artistic material that 
such a memorial can be made one of the world wonders. It is 
time for the West to awake to this task and the following lines 
are suggested as a stimulus to this undertaking. 



Loud went the call from tlie West through the 
leagues intervening, 

And far went its echoing sound to the East, that 
was leaning, 

With listening ear, to the sound. All the multi- 
tudes teeming 

The cities and lands of the Dutch, the Pilgrim and 
Swede 

Were eager to seek and to lind l»y the ti-ails that 
leiid 
Across the line of the Blue Ridge hills 
A home secure from the taunting ills 

Of cavil and cant and the aimless claims of creed. 

II 

From the witchcraft hind of stern New England's 

making- 
Men turned their face to the West, whose hearts 

were aching 
For the broader life on the wild, unti-animeled 

plains. 



46 



From the Hudson vale, far South, tlivonoh the land 

Avas planted 
That liberty-love, Avliich lirew and urged and 

panted 
For that wider sphere, where the soul could grow 
Unbound b_v a false creed's chains. 

Ill 
So, up from the peopled East, up from the colder 

shores 
Gathered the yeomen hearts, with their scanty, 

hard-earned stores; 
Valorous, strong and free, the pride of God and 

man. 
These turned their faces Westward in many a 

caravan. 
And as they went, leaving behind the safety of 

easier living. 
Each knew, for a God-like cause, the best of his life 

was giving; 
For the wild, wide sweep of the West, with its 

forests of unfelled trees 
Called for the strongest In^arts and the valor of 

Hercules. 

IV 

White trails through the roadless woods, they 

moved with the moving sun. 
The frontier guard of pioneers, whose task was 

just begun ; 



White trails o'er the monntain height and into the 

valleys dim 
They went with the step of melody in Freedom's 

unsung hymn. 

V 

In far Kentucky's valley, along Ohio's stream, 
And yon beside the Wabash, where Nature's glories 

dream, 
The fertile land is sleeping, but dangers are awake 
While all the world is waiting to see a new dawn 

break : 
For out of this unclaimed region, upon this deeper 

soil 
Must grow a tribe of yeomen, whose bravery and 

whose toil 
Will yield a race of broader men, broader in all 

things best — 
As the land of the East is narrow and wider the 

virgin West ! 

Above the untouched forest curled many a cloud 
of smoke. 

In many a lonesome valley was heard the wood- 
man's stroke. 

But ah! the tears, and ah! the fears and ah! the 
weary wait 

And ah! the aims that slowly died, hopeless and 
desolate ! 



48 



VI 

We praise onr gilded cities, we love onr fields of 

clover, 
We mark the glory of onr West, with many a thrill 

of pride, 
But not until fair History's page is full and flow- 
ing over 
Shall we recount how many souls for this great 

end have died. 
Their lowly graves are scattered beside each lonely 

hill,' 
Their manly hopes were shattered before they felt 

the thrill 
That comes with vict'ry's blessing ; and we are left 

to tell 
The story of their valor and the task they did so 

well. 

VII 

Arouse, ye sons of yeomen, by hero sires begotten ! 
Arouse, to honor mothers, whose glory, unfor- 

gotten. 
Spreads like a Summer flood of light o'er all the 

West to-day. 
Come ye with willing hearts and hands one debt 

of love to pay ! 

Like as their hopes were skyward bent, 
Like as their aim to God was lent. 
Like as their lives for ye were spent. 
Come now and l)uild their monument. 



49 




APRIL RAIN 

The Master, listening from the skies, 

Where warmth and light forever please the eyes, 

Heard, far away, sad, uncomplaining sighs 

Of children, wearied with the pain 

Where Winter crucifies 

With Frost and Cold before he dies. 

The Master listened once again 

Then sent the April rain. 

And lo ! from meadow-ways of white, 

Be-clovered, sweet and clean, 

There came the laughter, full and strong, 

Of Children in delight 

Whose sighs were turned to song. 

Because the Master felt their pain 

And sent the April rain. 



50 



GRECIAN VIGNETTES 

I 
Cradle of song, of legend, myth and art! 
Garden of dreams, where man first saw the light 
Of Dawn upon his ancient wall of night. 
That long obscnred his vision ; thou, the mart 
Where men first bartered gold for mental sight 
And learned to balance tenderness with might; 
Thou, first to grow the blossoms of the heart ! 

II 
In that young age, which lies behind the hill 
Of fast receding time, there lived a race 
Blessed of the gods with heavenly featured grace : 
Men great in stature and of sturdy will. 
Women, whose pictured charm, ah! yet can thrill 
The poet's soul, so much that he may trace 
Through misty years, a Helen's matchless face. 

Ill 
Looking beyond the half beclouded seas 
Of yesterday, to where Ulysses went, 
Like pilgrim, with a soul on conquest bent, 
In that far land the dreaming poet sees 
Those mystic forms that all his longings please: 
While on these shores he listens all intent 
And hears the footsteps of an Hercules. 



51 



IV 

When twilight weaves its mist-eutangled veil 
Along the searr'd and rock-indented shore, 
An unseen hand reopens wide the door 
Of ancient Romance : then, with faces pale 
And pleading hands go forth to weep and wail 
Thy phantom ghosts, O Greece! forevermore, 
Finding new joy along this olden trail. 

V 
Lives there one Circe in the world today. 
Luring with beck and smile the feet of men 
To outer halls of wonderment ; and then 
To inner tortures, where the Furies play ; 
Know that she looks far down this traveled way. 
Bestrewn with all the waifs and wrecks of sin 
And counts the price each willing slave must pay. 

VI 

No roar of Neptune, when his storms lift high 

Upon thy rocky shores with fury bent. 

And weary sails, in terror, are bespent. 

Can hush the voices that forever cry 

From out thy golden past and glorify 

All men and time. For these are still content 

To dwell where gods, alone, can satisfv. 



52 



VII 

Embowered shores, where every clinging vine 
Seeks in its embrace some be-godded tree, 
And where was born that child of liberty 
Which thy fair bonnds were helpless to confine; 
The world has long imliibed the purple wine 
Of fadeless song, throngh thy great Odyssey. 

And even yet the sting of thy salt brine 

Is felt npon the poet's brow, as when 

The world was young and dreamy Proserpine 

Wove Love and Romance in the hearts of men. 



SILENT GODS 
I 
How many pray to Gods who have no ears ! 
How many bow, within the cloister gate 
To forms, without the pulse of love or hate. 
Or souls to feel the burn of grief-arisen tears ! 

II 
Be it the Isis of the lazy Nile, 
Be it the Jove of Greece's olive plain, 
Or Mammon's face, beloved of modern Cain: 
These silent Gods refuse to hear or smile. 



53 




THE OLD SOUTH FARM 

I 

The tninnlt of the city shuts out the stars o'erhead, 

And ne'er a wayside blossom glows 

Along the paths men tread : 
But way down home, where the whip-poor-will 

Enchants the woods of June, 

With a lover's plaintive tune, 

ght is soft and sweet ai 

Under the silver moon. 



54 



II 

Beneath the lii-hts of the city, I see within its glare 
Sad hearts that throb beneath a smile: 

I see men drink the sparkling wine and swear 
Their joy. But after while 

Behold ! within the diml^'-lighted room 
The haggard face and stare : 

Where glowed the phantom smile, is gloom : 

Where Joy was god, now rnles the ghost Despair ! 

Ill 

Bnt on the old Sonth Farm in Caroline 

There are few lights that shine 
Within this night, save yonder stars and moon : 

And where the cohimbine 

Trails np its dainty vine 
Aronnd the poplar's height, 

A dreaming Thrnsh's tnne 
Softens the perfumed night 

Of June, of matchless Jnne. 



Lo ! when the dawn shall break, 

Down there in Caroline, 
No saddened hearts will wake : 
For on each vale and meadow-way and hill 

The light of peace will shine 
And wild, sweet notes the wooded heights will shake 

And every valley thrill. 
For dawn brings no regrets for thee and thine. 

Dear Old Sonth Farm, 
Way down in Caroline. 



55 



MORNING 

All through my woe I called to Thee : 

Out of the depths I cried 
But never a word from yonder shoreless sea 

To my lone prayer replied. 

Yet when the night, like me was spent, 

With grief and old despair, 
The gray of dawn brought joy and sweet content 

My answer waited there. 

WAR 



War thunders down the ages 
Like some wild storm that rages, 
Leaving on historj^'s pages 

The red stains of despair : 
List ye, where men are dying 
And orphaned ones are crying, 
List ye, to woman's sighing 

And find the war-god there ! 

II 

Where one hero's head is lifted 
Through the hands of Death are sifted 
A thousand trembling hearts, less gifted. 

And stilled forever more : 
Where there shines one deed of glory. 
There ten thousand hands are gory, 
And few are left to tell the story 

And these are sorrow-sore. 

56 



A TWILIGHT HYMN 
I 
A Summer twilight, glory-wronght and still. 

Dim shadows on the hill ; 
The meadow brnsh, full bloom with scented things 
A-whir with weary wings ! 

Beneath a sky, low-bent with silent stars, 

One stands beside the bars 
And lifts a song, fnll-tiowing to the brim 

In penitential hymn. 

II 
The distant hills caught np the sweet old song, 

In echoes swift along, 
■Till notes, like those from some celestial lyre, 

Came down and set on fire 
The singer's soul. And when the last note died 

Across the meadow's side 
Night folded all, in sleep, beneath her wing, 

Dreaming of those who sinu'. 



57 



BEYOND THE CONGAREE 

The roadway wound along the river's side 

For miles beyond the town ; 
Dirge-singing pines stood high in silent pride 

And looked in wonder down 
On boy and girl, who, clasping hand in hand. 

Went schoolward, all alone : 
Somehow the pine trees seemed to understand 

The light that round them shone. 

The laurel trees were blooming at their best, 

Along the Congaree, 
Where wound the road, and jasmine vines caressVl 

Each over-hanging tree. 
The river sung its happy course along 

Twixt willowed banks of green. 
Life to the boy was like some magic song : 

No shadow on its sheen. 

Across the river stretched the distant hills; 

Beyond, were wooded heights. 
Ah, who has felt the mystic dream that thrills 

A boy's first lofty flights 
Where Love plays part, and new ambitions wake 

Within his soul the fire 
That burns and rouses, for another's sake, 

Youth's first, unnamed desire. 

No matter what gold heavy laden ships 
Mav sail across the main 



58 



And anchor in your port; the trembling lips 

Of Love will sigh again 
For youth's first kiss, and flashing wistful eye 

Of maiden modesty : 
For you the hills will lift toward the sky 

Beyond your Conga ree. 



GOD HAS BEEN GOOD 

God has been good in what He has not given 

The things from me withheld 

By His all-knowing hand 

Leave me far more content 
Than had He all these gifts most lavish sent. 

Large wealth, exultant power and fame 
His will denies; 
And yet, in somehow-wise, 
His bounty unto me has freely given 
And sweet content to walk along my path. 

With these, dear friend, what joy one mortal hath ! 



59 



THE SIGHT OF YOU 

Come sit with me, love, while the shades grow 

longer 
Out here in the glow of the afternoon sun ; 
The touch of your hand makes my heart grow 

fonder 
Of all that is good when the day is done ! 

Theory of the street, with its tumult and laughter — 
These deaden the soul when the noon runs high ; 
While the noise of Gain and Mammon, the master, 
Shut out from the heart what love would buy. 

In the world's swift mart, where Profit is calling. 
No heartsease blooms by the hardened road, 
But on each head new grief is falling 
And each must bear his heavier load. 

But here, where the magical twilight lingers 
And star-craft sail in the far-off blue, 
I feel the clasp of your fairy fingers 
And find my peace at the sight of you. 



00 




UNFINISHED 

O ! Master Day, behold you setting sun 

Emblazons all the tinted west with gold, 
In whose rich glow thy ending is foretold 
While I am helpless, with my tasks undone ! 

These weary hands have labored soon and late, 
But, Master, thou hast sped on fleetest wing; 
There was so little time to pray and sing, 

So much undone, wilt thou not for me wait? 

Here is my flute untouched, but in my heart 
The melody awaits, which I must try: 
Hold yonder sun, within the gold-set sky 
That I may sing this song before we part. 



61 




^The world is full of passional things- 
Youth and Love have called to me J' 



-both 



THE NOVICE 

I 

How much of penance must I pay to earn my place 

in Paradise ! 
How far fi-om duty's road may stray, yet find my 
welcome in the skies: 
The world is full of passion'd things ; both Youth 

and Love have called to me, 
Oh ! how the mortal round me clings, while I 
would seek eternitv! 



I wonder if the stern w<irld knows, that world 

which scoffs at things divine, 
How guilt and sin, like winter snows, blow on this 
helpless soul of mine ! 
I count the beads, each one by one, then look 

across the fields of ^Nfay 
Where, underneath the blessed sun. Life beckons 
where the love-lutes play. 

Ill 

I am but human, God must know how frail the 

novice soul can be. 
And when temptations come and go, alas! what is 
there left for me 
But woman's wish, by passion fired, concealed 

within a woman's heart. 
That in the bright, sweet world of Love, my soul 
could have its part ! 



63 





m 



THE LAND OF SILENCE 



A child looked far across the Summer tinted plain 
To where the mountains rest against the sky 

And lost their outline in a nameless stain 
Of blue, beyond the reach of human eye ; 
And, Avondering, asked what fabled lands must lie 
Across their tops. But ther-e was no reply: 

The childish query passed along in vain. 



Before you lieth evermore the mystic land 

Of life and dreams, of death, of Love and night. 
The magic quest of soul's unceasing tiight. 
Even beyond the pale of human might; 
And yet they bring the eager soul no light : 

The mystery of these man must not understand. 



64 




THE PATH 

A lonely stretch of pathway leading by 
A meadow brook, and then l)eyond a hill, 
Unto a spot, where pines are tall and still, 
Like sentinels beneath the autumn sky; 

A pathway meaningless to traveler 
Who walks its golden sands without a thr 
To me this path all roadways glorify, 
Because it leads unto the home of her. 



65 



SHEBA 
I 

As in Arabia's gardens I>looms of richer colors 

grow 
Because the passion VI kisses of tlie sun caress 

them so : 
As the tropic nights are darker, and the days are 

long and brighter 
So the maiden lips are redder and their cheeks 

witli blnshes glow. 

II 

Thus to Sheba's matchless beauty all the East and 

South had pai<l 
Touch of tan and richer color, and about her eyes 

was laid 
All the witchery of smiling, all the art of maid's 

beguiling, 
That entangled kingly fancy and a kingly Avisdom 

swayed. 

Ill 

And so, through ages olden, Sheba's fame shall live 

and last; 
All the Avomen of the nations at her feet their 

worship cast; 
She, their wisdom, hers, their glory — thus they 

keep alive the story 
And, with look and smile and beckon hold man's 

kingly passions fast. 



66 



HAGAR'S FAREWELL 

Farewell, fareAvell ! white tents of girlhood days, 
Of maidenhood and of that nameless vale 
Where Love first bloomed : and in Avhose skies 

yet sail 
The dreams of romance, which cannot avail 
Aught now for me, save like nnto some toy 
With which old Memory plays 
And in whose handling finds some scanty joy. 

Farewell, white tents, yon glitter on the plain, 
Like argosies upon some tropic sea ! 
But ah! the bitterness your sight brings back 

to me : 
The birth of Love, its bloom, the agony 
Of motherhood, but most of all the pain 
When Love was scorned, and I 
Touched hands with Jealousy, 
The memory of which will never die. 

See yonder waste, Oh Ishmael, my own ! 
See yonder sands where never lifts a tree. 
Or oasis to shelter you and me : 
That is our home. This, with its mystery. 
The endless plain, with heat and hunger sown. 
Is our abode. Only the stars above, 
The orient stars, so full of light and love. 
Shall compensate us: these, and liberty. 



67 



SUI^IMER CLOUDS 

I 

Like castle dreams ye wander iu and ont 
The sky's blue fields, as one, demnre, devout, 
Aimlessly goes, he knows not how or where, 
The chartless road of never-endino- doubt. 



From out that vale where childhood's memories keep 
The by-ways green, I often look and weep, 
When I discern hoAV many castles fair 
Ye set for me, along youth's golden stair. 
Which with my host of broken idols sleep. 

Ill 

And yet ye go, like gods of liberty, 
Laggard or fleet, unfettered, wild and free; 
Ye bring the breezes to the scorching corn, 
Ye cool the brow where life is weary-worn 
And bind upon my soul your mystery. 

IV 

Clouds of the Summer, speak to me and tell. 

Are ye the castles where the lost souls dwell? 
In all your moving through the sky about 
Are ye impelled by Time's old monster. Doubt? 

Alas ! before I have one faint reply 

The castle fades into the bluest skv. 



68 




'And yet ye go, like gods of liherty- 
— laggard or fieet/^ 



LONESOME PINE 

Have you no friendships you may call your own? 
No comrades, who with you may face the wind 
And to the storm-god's restless fury bend. 
When all the heath with wreckage has been strown? 

Nature has served you with a pauper hand. 
Far to the East runs on the leagueless main 
Whence come the winds and Autumn's ceaseless 

rain. 
Your sustenance is from the lifeless sand. 

And yet how brave, through all the years you've 

been. 
You lift a scanty form against the sky 
And kiss the mists that float in langor by 
And wisdom teach the selfishness of men. 



GUILT 

Bowed and bare to the lash's cut 
The slave Itent low to take his punishment; 
And when he sought repose within his hut 
Even amid his pain, somehow, he found content. 
But in a mansion where the conscience sting 
Sent through a soul its taunting of unrest 
Alas ! the l)ird of guilt would not take wing 
But made its home within the victim's breast. 



70 




'Nature has served you with a pauper hand/' 




AH! BITTER FATE 

Ah ! bitter fate 

To have the dreams, 

Yet not the skill of brush or pen 
The vision's s^lor-ies to translate: 



Ah ! bitter wait 

To see the glow 

Of grandeur pass before the eye! 
The colors come too late, too late 

Before the dreams take wings and fly. 



72 



We hear the notes 

Immortals sing, 

We hear the mnsie of the spheres, 
But ere we grasp, each echo floats 

Adown the swift forgotten years. 

This is the price 

We mortals pay 

For that immortal part within : 
With flesh we shake the fateful dice 

And lo ! the flesh is sure to win ! 



TO HARRIET SHELLY 

Ah ! to have known the thrill of life, with him, the 

idol of the gods, 
And then to fall and feel the woe, where sorrow 

only trods; 
Ah! to have known his passioned love and shared 

the embrace of his arms 
And after loving — lose — and Avalk the roadway of 

alarms ! 

But greater pity thus to leave 
The path with him secure, serene, 
And find a nameless grave beneath 
The treacherous Serpentine ! 



73 



THE MASTER PAINTER 

The June snn sweeps his painter's brush, silently 

up the swarded hill, 
And lo! the brown turns (luiek to green; and where 

the busy, grumbling rill 
Through wooded brush and tangled glen finds 

slowly his obstructed way 
The painter leaves upon the rocks his lichen spots 

of gray. 

Have you not heard the children laugh amid the 

purple dawn of spring. 
Because the lilac in the night had blossomed like 

some holy thing: 
For while they slept the painter came and with his 

art forever new 
He touched the waiting buds and lo! spring's glory 

smiled amid the dew. 

I know you've heard the thrush's note come with a 

ha]>pier, silver thrill 
Before the sun rays yet had touched her nest below 

the hill ; 
Know ye that while she slept and dreamed of 

summer days ahead 
The painter touched the maple buds and turned 

them deeper red. 



74 



days, 
N^ot a vine along the hedgerow that scents the 

wooded ways, 
Not a rose that blesses summer, nor a tulip's 

crimson blush 
But knows the master's colors and is painted by 

his brush. 



LOVE'S DAWN 

As one, who through some haunted night has slept, 
Frenzied by dreams, all clothed in hideous shapes, 
Slowly awakes and from the spell escapes 
Into the light, where dawn's soft peace is kept, 
Feels like a soul from jail to freedom swept; 
So, when Love came into your life and bent 
Your every mood unto his own sweet will 
A new world's light fell round you with its thrill 
And changed unrest into a heart's content. 

And as you walked that new and friendly shore 
With Love beside you, smiling as you went. 
Far off you heard the stormy breakers roar 
Like echoes of the old life's punishment. 



75 




AT THE POINT OF THE CAPE 

Dawn at the point of the cape, where the land runs 

evenly down 
To the narrowest slip and is lost in the arms of 

the main ; 
A white beach, dimmed by the mantle of night, 

with never a spot or a stain, 
Stretches away, like a ribbon of light, to the 

distant edae of the town. 



76 



II 
High noon at the cape, Avith the loitering clouds all 

mixed and tangled 
With the intricate tints of the sky's own blue; 
East and West the stretch of the vision bespangled 
With colors and shades of a nameless hne. 

Day seems a-panse, with a passionate sense of 

leaving 
This mystery beach, with its clean swept sands of 

gold ; 
The wild trees lean, with arms to the seaward, 

grieving 
For the tale of wrecks that remain forever nntold. 

Ill 

Night off the point of the cape — full moon a cloud 

and the sea : 
Just these and that unsolved mystery 
Of darkness and silence, that storms through the 

soul in its plight 
When alone with itself and the nio-ht. 



77 



DREAMS OF CHILDHOOD 

Somewhere I've read in an olden book 

This legend, gray with the moss of age; 

That a traveler, weary in step and look, 

Went forth on his last long pilgrimage. 

At the golden gate, all deftly wrought, 

He paused, in awe, at its beauty rare. 

For in his hands no gift he brought 

That would pass him in through the portals fair, 
Save this : that he carried within his soul 
The blessed love of a childish face. 
The only thing in the scanty toll 
Of an empty life that he could trace. 
But seeing the gift St. Peter said : 
^'No richer thing can a mortal bring; 
Behold the gates wide open swing 
For one, whom a little child has led." 



78 




''The blessed love of a childish face. 



LOVE'S CAPTIVITY 

Ah ! Since you came and took your place within 
The garden of my soul, new flow'rs have grown 
In wild luxuriance there; and these have blown 
Their perfume all about. Your smile has been, 
Dear one, like olden wine, and life to me 
Instead, with freedom sown. 
Is hedged al)out with Love's captivity. 

Though I be slave I love my serfdom well. 
The stronger chains you forge about my will 
Are welcome, for they hold me close and still, 
Near to the holy place where you must dwell. 
Take all my dream of other years than this 
And these upon the restless waters strew : 
I want but this : my servitude for you. 
Behold my lips are passioned for your kiss. 

I have known freedom, but how dull now seem 
Those years of liberty, before you came. 
I even knew the petted touch of fame. 
But these dissolve, like some forgotten dream 
Before the glory which your love has brought. 
And these strong chains your little hands have 
wrought. 



80 



LOVE'S LITTLE WORLD 



Where the hearthstone embers smoulder 
Love's own voice is softly calling; 
On her face the lights are falling 
As the vears aroAv old and older. 



Love's domain is small, but luring, 
One sweet face, content and smilin< 
But its force is all beguiling 
And its strength is all enduring. 

It is she, who reads the story 
By the fireside, still and lonely 
That can make this ingle only 
All my wide, sweet world of glory. 



Just one little face so tender, 
Just these hands, so white and slender. 
And one heart that still remembers 
Makes my bliss, where glow the embers 
Where the hearthstone dreamings smoulder 
As the years grow old and older. 

Ah ! but such a tiny thing 

Makes the heart forever sing: 
Life is small, I do aver. 
Just this room, ohl love and her. 



81 




FRIENDLY SHORES 

Passionate sands that learned from your mother, 

the Sea, 
The spirit nnrest, you call both the storm and the 

breeze 
And the waves, with a penitent plea, 
Like a sonl that never has learned the blessing of 

ease. 

The wonder of sea in its endless sweep. 
The wonder of storm in its anger pace 
And the tireless winds that never sleep. 
Are the gods that love and hannt this place. 



82 




Clean-swept each morn, as the face of a cloudless 

sky 
Is this wave- washed beach, with never a stain nor 

taint 
Upon its sands : clean-swept as the radient eye 
That looks from the pardoned sonl of a saint ! 

The endless stretch of the moaning sea, 
The rounding curve of the bending sky, 
Are myteries all in their breadth to me 
As the shoreless space where the sea-gulls fly. 



83 




Wonder of water and wonder of sky, 
Wonder of dnsk, when a storm portends; 
Wonderful shores that contented lie 
And almost meet where the river ends ! 

If man could wash his soul of sin as clean 
As these white shores of Neptune's vast estate 
No barrier then could lift its wall between 
His radiant path from earth to heaven's gate. 



84 




Ye winds that blow across the mighty deep, 
Driviug the mist, like snowy-crested fleece, 
Here on this beach a tryst of faith yon keep, 
That men may know yonr handy-work of peace. 

Whose faith has watched life's storm clonds roll 

away. 
And feels the ease that follows mortal pain 
May here behold Love's vesper-closing day, 
And see the stars of hope shine out again. 



85 




Lull of the sea-winds, easing of waves, 
West-moving- shadows, the passing of light, 
Uplifted spar, like a sonl that craves, 
Ringing of vesper, the day's "good-night." 



THE TYRANNY OF LAW 

I sometimes hate the tyranny of law 
Because my love of freedom is so wide. 
The very thought of locks and chains is awe 
To one who has no guilty act to hide. 

I watch the birds about my cottage gate 
And envy all the freedom they possess ; 
I see the clouds that swiftly go or wait, 
And wonder why man's freedom should be less ! 

There are no prisons for the daffodils 
That bless each day when blooming Spring abides, 
There are no chains to lock the rose that thrills 
With June's awaking, save the clasp of brides. 

Ah ! stupid man that he should be beset 

By hindrance which the things of Nature scorn ; 

Why should his sturdy race, alas ! beget 

An offspring, of its widest freedom shorn? 

And thus I hate the tyranny of laws. 
The sight of prison wall, the clank of chain. 
All things that rob of liberty, because 
These bring to man his heritage of pain. 



87 



WISDOM AND LOVE 

Old Wisdom said to Love : 

"Now come along with me today, 
Come, let us glean from history's storied page 
The greater deeds of warrior and sage ; 
Glean from these musty tomes the wealth of 
man 
By barter, trade and caravan 
And when we've garnered all the knowledge 

that we can 
If there be time, perhaps, a little play." 

But Love, the wise 

Looking from wistful eyes. 
Said thus: "Oh! Wisdom, I would roam about 
To-day among the meadow-lands of Doubt 

Where l^end blue Summer skies : 

For on a day like this 

One's looking for a kiss 

And I, perchance, may see 

Some maid of mystery, 

Some maiden with a sigh, 

Lonesome of heart as I ; 
So, Wisdom, let me play 
Just for this little day: 
Perhaps, in school to-morrow, 
We two may studv sorrow." 




TWILIGHT ON THE MARSH 

It is twilight on the marsh, the dim ending 

Of a long sweet day, now weary of golden sunshine. 

And yellow spun dreams, all full of romance and 

love. 
From the early waking of the gray dawn, 
Out there, over the calm waters of the gulf. 
When the first hungry gull flew seaward. 
Until this wistful twilight hour, 
Each moment has been filled with the glory of 

perfection : 
A day with the thoughts of old, sweet memories in 

its eves. 



89 



Long before the gray line of morning crossed the 

East 
I walked on the beaches yonder and listened, 
Listened to the soft spoken words of the talking 

waves. 
Mingled with their echo was the scream of the 

fish-hawk, 
Then the wild call of a gray eagle to his mate; 
And later the silver note of the hermit tlirnsh, 
Securely hid among the myriad leaves of the live 
oak. 
What a blessed experience is a summer dawn by 

the sea ! 
Every moment is an idyl, every tree a poem, 
Every sound a symphony and 
Every mist like the drapery that covers a bride. 
I have listened to the sea in its wrath 
And in its voice was the anger of a god. 
I have listened to the sea in its moaning 
And every tone was full of human grief. 
I have listened to the waves in a still June dawn 
And their voice was like the whisper of lovers. 
The sea has its magical tinge of life, thought, 

feeling, 
Full of love, hate and anger, like a living thing. 



90 



But mystery above all else is the voice of the deep, 

Its anger expressed in storm, 

Its grief portrayed at ebb tide, 

And its peace, pictured in this golden twilight. 

Which extends from the marsh to the main. 

And in dim outline, mingles the two in one. 

The glory of a perfect day now fades upon the 

marsh, 
That like a king, weary of his pomp and power. 
Longs to share a cottage and wear no crown but 

flowers. 

The little stars, with their mystery, like that of 

the sea. 
Awaken and become sensuous, like living things. 
Each prints its image upon the water. 
And out here, among the marsh grass, is an 

inverted sky. 
More beautiful with its silver and blue and green 
Than any picture yet painted by a master. 

In every clump of grass is the love call of a bird 

to its mate. 
Wings are swift in the home coming flight, 
Fear quickens each belated pilgrim ; 
The thrush alone, is bold in the enveloping 

darkness. 
Daring to lift one more burst of song 
Before the dav closes. 



91 



And as his last note finds an echo 
In the heart of yonder live oak, 
Deep silence settles upon the marsh, 
Broken only by the complaining murmur 
Of the sea which never sleeps. 

And further, as the darkness envelopes all this 

world 
Of marsh and sea and shore 
I am left alone. The marsh birds are asleep. 
Not a leaf of the live oak, nor a frond of the palm 

tree moves. 
Even the west winds, that swept the meadows in 

the afternoon, 
Are aweary now. They also sleep. 
The sea alone is my companion and as I kneel to 

Pi'ay, 
There is comradeship in his presence. 
There is sympathy in his grief 
And our voices mingle in a word of devotion. 
Not of prayer, but of i)raise 
For this serene picture of twilight on the marsh. 



92 



TO ONE SIXTEEN 
I 

From the warm, white beach, where the Gulf of 

Aden lies 
Like a ruby waste, blue as a moslem's eyes ; 
From the Red Sea sands that wash a tentless shore, 
To the far, far East, where the desert closed the 

door 
To human trail ; and where the caravan 
Paused in despair at the last white hut of man, 
A fairy brought all colors, new and old, 
To work and weave into your hair of oold. 



From Egypt's gardens where the finest silk is spun 
And poppies catch all colors of the sun. 
Where desert waste distills in nightly dew, 
Her Crystals charged with every tropic hue, 
This fairy caught from underneath the skies 
The nameless charm and sparkle of your eyes. 

Ill 
Out of the South where blooms the scented Thyme, 
Where every sand is like a poet's rhyme ; 
From coasts where palms lean seaward in repose 
And every day dreams idly to its close 

Your goddess brought, within her dainty ships, 
The tempting langor of your girlish lips. 



93 



ONE WHO LOVES LIFE 

Shall I tell you of one who is in love with life, 

Whose whole soul is all aflame 

With the joy of living and its beantifnl things? 

Then listen! He may not be the petted son of 

fortune. 
She who lavishes gold into mortal hands 
May have silently passed him by. 
No trace of royal blood may flow in his veins, 
He may belong to that populous family of earth 
Whose birth was unheralded by some mysterious 

star. 

But fortune and royalty and blood play small parts 
In souls where the love of life and its beautiful 

things 
Is inherent and holds sway. 

This lover of life is master over theory and cir- 
cumstance. 
Conditions to him, no matter how deplorable. 
Never obscure the glory of heaven's sunshine, 
The light of stars, nor the perfume of violets. 
To him, the light of each day is the smile of 

divinity, 
The darkness of each night is the caress of peace. 
To him, the blast of every winter storm 
Foretells the wealth of a day in June, 
And the wilting of flowers at the touch of frost 
Means April's resurrection of life. 

Each dawn finds him glad at the birth of a new day. 
Eager for its untried tasks, even as vouth, 



94 



At life's threshold, longs to probe the mystery of 

living. 
Each dawn to him is like a new youth, 
Full of promise, full of hopes 
All beckoning, like sirens, to one eager for 

adventure. 

Twilight comes to him with its shadowy regret, 
Not unhappily, but with regret that one more day 

is gone. 
He has garnered from it his fill of joy 
And yet his love of life is such 
That he is jealous of every day that passes 
And this leaves him one day less to live. 

But as the night shadow falls about him 

It awakens in his soul that other emotion of joy, 

The laying aside of toil and conquest 

And a turning to the altar of prayer. 

Every star in the blue al)Ove is full of mystery. 

The very silence and darkness suggest devotion. 

The day's tasks induce surrender to sleep, 

Itself more mysterious than life. 

And ere his devotions are finished 

He sleeps, forgetful of the joy of living 

While through his dreams a thread of golden 

romance 
Wanders, until the light of dawn shall lay its hand 
Upon his eyelids and call him softly 
Into the gladness of another day. 



95 



TO-MORROW'S TASK 

Unsated wish means life. 

He who wants, has a work to do, 

The towering heights to climb 

And undiscovered lands yet to explore. 

Beyond lies the vale of realization, 

With its lotus perfume and lethean streams. 

But the dreams of the victor are not so sweet 

As the urging aspirations of him who climbs. 

It is the old, old legend of Alexander again, 
Reaching the uttermost bounds of conquest. 
And weeping, alone, for other tasks to do. 
The unpeopled wastes, that lay beyond. 
Offered no resistance to the pagan soldier; 
The glory of past victories paled sadly. 
Compared with the passion that urged unwon 

battles. 
"No worlds to conquer" was an Ultima Thule 
That meant despair to the warrior's heart. 

To the living soul there is no such thing as content. 
Every night brings dreams that must come true. 
The freshness of every dawn will awaken new 

ambitions. 
And every twilight will find tasks unfinished 
Which to-morrow must complete ! 



96 



To the ardent soul a Heaven of absolnte rest 
Is beyond the idea of endnrance. 
An eternal Sal)batli is beyond onr comprehension. 
The millions of hope-wrought spirits the world 

has known, 
Wonld mutiny in a life of eternal ease 
And would plead for tasks, 
Such as the sweet old human world gave them. 

The unattained heights make life worth while. 

The God-given spirit to do is ever alive in the soul. 

Attainnu^nt only acts as a stimulus to do more. 

Every height reached gives zest for new effort. 

Always beyond lies a fairer country 

Toward whose shores the soul is ever turned. 

Herein is born nmn's greatest gift — 

The spirit of Hope, without whose aid 

All human effort would be impossible. 

Life unendurable 

And unawaking sleep tlie l»urden of our prayers. 

In this restlessness, this ever pressing forward 

To woo, to win, to conquer, 

Man linds his closest kinship to divinity. 

In this spirit is our claim to immortality. 

This is part of the great Master's soul in us. 

Creating new worlds through eternal ages himself, 



97 



God has given man this spirit of creation, 

Of conquest and of untold longings, 

Which even acconiplislnnent itself never satisfies. 

Happy is he who possesses this gift in abundance. 

His kinship to the divine is doubly close, 

Though the burden he must bear is heavy. 

To him there is no haven where sails are furled, 

No journey's end where the tent is pitched. 

His is the eternal, ceaseless wish to do. 

And even when his tired body 

Shall become brother to the dust, 

His soul shall start anew on its journey of conquest, 

The end of which 

The eternal vears alone shall mark. 



98 



A HUMAN CREED 

I am Adam, 

My home is the Garden of Eden, 

Just where my illustrious ancestor was placed 

When the world was in its Springtime. 

The pure blood of my father flows in these veins, 

Untainted and unchanged. 

The world and time may have changed, not I. 

My habitation is full of beautiful things. 

I live in a world of bliss, 

And yet every sweet must have its bitter, 

Every sun ray its shadow. 

And every sin its keen regret. 

I am to-day as the Creator made me. 

All the conflicting impulses remain the same. 

A longing for that forbidden fruit. 

Which grows in this beautiful garden, 

Is as strong in me as it was in my distant ancestor. 

To eat it is, perhaps, to sin. 

At any rate, disobedience brings regret. 

And yet, and yet! 

Who has not sinned has never lived. 

Who has not felt the pain of contrition 

Has never known the glory of forgiveness. 

Who has not human passions 

Knows not the pleasure of their gratification. 



99 



Yes, I am Adam — 

Full of the strange longings the Master gave me; 

Full of hope, desire and a reaching out for things 

Forltidden by what man calls law. 

These impnlses tight for mastery — 

The frnit hangs hiscions on the golden trees, 

Siren voices call from hidden places, 

Bewildering phantoms cross my pathway. 

Fame, Wealth, Passion, Desire and Love call softly, 

And I, full of my father's weakness, 

Unarmed, as he, against the power of human desire, 

Listen to the whisjters that avoo and win. 

I fall, as he fell, and am driven ; 

Driven with a fiery sword, from my Eden home. 

Out into a wihlerness where hissing sounds 

Smite my ear, where beady eyes stare at me, 

Where Fear and Awe, without my consent. 

Lay their clammy hands upon me. 

Darkness hangs about my road. 

Batty wings flit about my head. 

Dread falls ui)on my soul. 

I am undone. 

I reap the heritage of my father. 

I am punished for another's sin; 

Mjj sin, tis true, and yet not mine. 

I am a creature of circumstances and environment. 



100 



The imijulses given me have led me astray. 
Over these gifts I had no will or choice. 
They are mine by heritage, 
And yet they have led me into the wild. 
Where creeping things soil me with their slime. 

Shall I rebel against my fate? 

Shall I snlk in the Avilderness 

And make friends of bats and reptiles, 

("hoosing the by-ways of grief 

Rather than the snnshine on the hill-top? 

Never. I am Adam. 

My ancestor's blood rnns pnre in my veins. 

Like him, I am master of my fate; 

I arise in the wilderness with resolnte sonl 

And tnrn my face to the garden. 

Repentance smites me sore. 

On the wayside I pray alone. 

I plead, not my weakness, bnt my misfortnne. 

I know my limitations. 

I know my strength and my environment. 

Contrition tills my sonl. And then 

A great light comes in, 

And when I awake the gates of Eden 

Are open wide to receive me l)ack again. 



101 



Yes, I am Adam — 

As brave as lie and as strong, 

And likewise as weak. 

I shall condone none of my weaknesses. 

They are all God-given 

And belong to me as a royal heritage. 

I shall not complain, 

I shall not shrink and beg 

When the lash is laid upon my bare shoulders. 

My soul is unafraid and unbowed. 

I look upwards where stars of hope shine. 

I leave in my soul no unrepented sin. 

I am Adam, God's own creation. 

And I bless the Master 

For the soul of courage He has given me. 



102 



EARTH'S SADDEST NIGHT 

The stars over Palestine were dim that night. 
Not because of any obscuring clouds, 
Or silvery mist, or plant-refreshing rain. 
It was the dry season and the atmosphere 
Was crystal-clear, without fleck or flaw. 

The stars were dim because of their own tears — 
Tears unbidden, which could not be restrained. 
The dew was heavy on the olive leaves 
And on the sj)arse grass were crystal beads of 

water. 
For the night wept, as well as the far away stars 
And the very darkness seemed to groan in agony. 

Down in a garden one lone figure bowed. 

The world has ever since loved the olive trees 

Because they shadowed His grief, in part only. 

From the far-dimmed stars and the night. 

No grief had ever touched a soul that was so keen, 

So all-powering, as that which reached the Master 

On that saddest night the world has ever known. 

Desertion by friends would be bearable — 

The shadow of to-morrow's cross could be endured; 

The cut of the nails and the thrust of spears 

Could all be borne — but beyond these, 

Alas! the Master felt a keener arief ! 



103 



Through long ages the woi-hl had sinned. 

Backward lay the savage cruelties 

Of unrecorded savage wars. 

The cry of innocent and nni)rotected children, 

Of lone murders in the silent night. 

Of sin-stained women in despair. 

Of a world's savagery and open guilt, 

All came to the Master in a single wail — 

Pleading for mercv and absolution. 

It was the total of a world's grief and its pain. 
The total of its crimes and atrocities. 
The acme of its secret murders 
And its flagrant, open abortions, 
Stretching backward through the ages. 
The suffering of forty centuries was laid upon 
one soul. 

That Avas the secret of the ^Master's plea : 

"If this cup may pass, O, Father." 

No wonder the stars were dim with tears, 

No wonder the tropic night wept heavily, 

No wonder the darkness groaned out its grief, 

As the Master's prayer was heard around a world. 

Earth's saddest night will always live 
In romance, story and song 
As the tenderest, sweetest memory 
The world has ever known. 



104 




SEA MYSTERIES 

Vast, unknown, un-understood, 

Eloquent, soul stirring sea! 

An epic, greater than all subjects combined, 

For tlie brain of man to reckon with. 

You know and reach every part of God's wide 

world. 
Where gorgeous flowers bloom in the tropics 
And plenteous fruit ripen, to make men indolent. 
And the sun and stars shine with unfailing 

brilliance, 
You are there, with your mysterious stillness, 
At times, and your turbulent storms at others. 



105 



Where the shores offer you their Spring and 

Slimmer flowers 
And the even recurrence of seasons; 
Lifting man to his greatest achievements, 
You are there — 
There to bring his ships to port 
To bear his treasures and his pleasure craft upon 

your l)osom, 
To aid in his enterprise and his achievements — 
To help make him great — 
Because you know his greatness can never surpass 

your own. 
Where the cold of the North and the far South 
Holds the world in its arms, beyond the approach 

of man — 
Behold 3^ou are there; 
Not because you envy one foot of the land or the 

icy coast — 
Not because man may supplant you in your power, 
But you are there, like a God — omnipresent. 
Watching the very ends of the world 
For Him who created us both. 



And thus you go, even beyond the travels of man. 
You Avatch the polar seas as well as the desert coast. 
You are friend, at once, of Arab and Esquimo. 



106 



The jungles of the Amazon's ilf^lta 
Are as familiar to you as the coasts of Greenland. 
No beach of romantic beanty 

Is beyond yonr knowing and your loving embrace ; 
No beach so cold or desert laden 
That you do not patrol its desolate wilds 
And encourage its ice or sands with your kiss. 
And above all of this watchfulness, 
This world-wide greatness of poAver, 
This sympathy and tenderness, the tempest and 

calm 
You keep, untold, the secret of your crimes! 
Each sunken ship lies far below your placid 

surface. 
No gravestones rise above the trough of your 

waves. 
When you envy man his greatness 
And wish to destroy his craft 

You call the storms, that ever await your bidding; 
And these, with fog and cloud, make easy the task. 
Then unknown graves are opened 
And shrouds, which tell no tales, 
Are laid in your depths, where the sunshine never 

enters. 



107 



PRAYER 

I 

The Moslem on the bni-niiig sands of the desert, 
Retreating from some nameless crime, 
Or, in extremis from heat and thirst. 
Knelt beside a lone palm tree 
To bare his soul in prayer. 

He littered but few words, yet every line on his face 
Betokened contrition and the storm of feeling 
That had driven his sin-tossed soul 
Into the haven of supplication. 



He hides nothing, but tells his unseen god 
That he is more sin-spotted than any Moslem 
Who curses the desert with his presence. 

He bares his soul to the merciless sun. 

He strikes his uncovered breast 

And with head thrown back. 

With arms wide open, he faces the East 

To receive that unfailing pardon 

Of which he is unworthy. 

The Moslem prays ! 

II 
In the gray dawn of a tawdry room. 
Disheveled by the marks of debauch and revelry, 
A woman awakens from troubled sleep. 
The hand of dissixnition has touched her face 



108 



And laid the marks of keen regret 
Where the lines of beauty should be. 

She thinks long and tensely in the dim light. 

Recollections of girlhood and girlhood joys 

Come back to blight her awakening. 

Her breast heaves with emotion 

And nnbidden tears well into the beantifnl eyes. 

Slowly she rises and down beside the conch of 

disgrace 
She bows the head of black tresses 
In a Magdalene's prayer of repentance. 

Like the Moslem, there is no condoning her sin. 

All of her gnilt lies weighty npon her yonng sonl. 

She feels nnworthy, even to pray, 

And yet, in the dim light of her gaudy room. 

With its simple trinkets of her fallen life. 

There come the gentle words of the Master : 

"I condemn thee not, go, sin no more." 

The Magdalene prayed. 

Ill 

Within the splendor of God's temple. 

With its Bible, its altar and its sacramental feast, 

A man knelt on velvet cushions 

And read the cold lines of prayer 

Printed in a cold book : 

Reading in unison with a liveried minister 

Who stood by a uolden altar. 



100 



Rich hangings were about the windows 

And the smell of incense was in the air. 

But alas ! the cold Avords from the cold book, 

Uttered by self-loving Pharisee lips, 

Went no further than the door of the temple. 

The spirit of no tense feeling, or repentance was 

there 
To carry them further; for self-love and content 
Filled the man's soul. 
The prayer was a mockery 
And brought no answer. 

The Pharisee prayed in vain. 



A LOVE SONG 

Ah ! when your love came swift into my heart 

And mutely left its golden image there. 

Even the trodden street became as fair 

As blooming vales. Each roadway was a part 

Of nameless avenues leading afield, afar. 

To some fair palace underneath a star. 

Then all my yesterdays, bereft and l)are. 

Gave place to bright to-morrows ; and the art 

Of loving you made me an heir 

To all the glories that have been and are. 



110 



TO HENRY RICHARD WILDE 

Immortal thou ! By one immortal note 

Struck by thy genius on some magic lyre- 
One song that set a listening world on fire — 
Men pause to bless the trembling hand that wrote 
The ^^Summer Rose''. Thy tracks on Tampa's sand 
No tide has reached, for all men understand 

And sing thy song— full flowing with desire. 
Its phantom threads are held in every hand 
And every silken mesh leads far remote 

Unto the portals of Love's mystic land. 



HENRY TIMROD 

Perhaps the best poem left by the hmiented Henry Tlmrod 
is "Spring", a poem so full of tenderness and delicacy of 
thought, as to make his name immortal, even had he written 
nothing else. 

No faithful watch beside thy lowly grave 

By those for whom thy sweetest songs were sung : 
Nor polished marble, with its silent tongue, 

Though eloquent, can ever dare to save 
Half of the glory that in pity hung 

About thy path ; nor can these tell how brave 

Was thy young soul, consumed by heavenly crave. 
So sleep, bereft, though greater than a king. 
Thou singer ! in whose song Love's holiest thing 

Was woven fast and o'er whose grave is flung 
Echoes, in tune, to thy immortal "Spring." 



Ill 



FOR YOU 

Each Spring comes back with its brighter skies 
That shelter the vale with a deeper blue, 
But they bring not back your tender eyes, 
Nor the love of you. 

Noon walks the vale like a mystical king 
Where the wild, sweet blossoms plead and woo, 
But alas! I miss this one sweet thing — 
Just the sight of you. 

The white shore, sanded and wave-wrapped, lies 
Where once there echoed the steps of two : 
To-day but the phantoms of hope arise 
As I pray for you. 

The night bird calls to its nestling own 
From yonder fragrant pine and yew. 
While I stretch my arms in grief, alone. 
For the arms of you. 

APRIL CLOUDS. 

Ye idle gypsies of the April sky 

That wander in, your pathless world, and out. 

Aimless as they bereft of care and doubt ; 

Have ye no wish to wait and linger nigh 

The myrtle hedge that blooms, serene, about 

The meadow ways? Dear April clouds, I see 

Your ardent love of gypsy liberty 

Impells each mile you go, knowing not why, 



112 



ROSABELLE 



Where lies that vast, immeasiired height 
Whence you have gone, dear Rosabelle, 

Thi'ough which yon took yonr hist, long flight? 
Yon know the pathway well : — 

Was it beset with clonds of night, 

Or flooded with a golden light 
Which from Elysinm fell? 

II 

Was it alone yon ti'aveled there 

Throngh that nncharted realm of space? 
Or did some angel's presence care 

For all yonr needs, in that long i-ace 
From earth and love and heart-things fair 
And brnsh away the silent tear, 

That mnst have stained yonr holy face! 

Did yon not panse to look away 

P'rom those dim heights to earth again — - 
To where the mortal shadows lay 

All mixed with joy and love an<l pain. 
And tnrn your heavenward conrse astray 
To taste love's sting, for one short day, 

And bear the crimson of its stain? 



113 



Ill 

The streets are new to your bright eyes 
And all bewildering the ways of gold — 
So far unlike the earthly paths of old 
That in the silence I can hear replies 
Unto my prayer : — Somehow I hear your sighs ! 

The vast, wide sweep that circles far 
Your horizon is all too wide 
To house that love which used to hide 
In closer bounds, beneath a mortal star, 
That flamed my soul and made you what you are. 

The old, sweet thoughts of time's corrupted earth 
Must come to you like phantoms pale — 
Must come and plead, yet no avail 
Have they to move you from your newer birth, 
Nor waken in my soul one note of mirth. 

IV 

Rest by the golden gate, dear Rosabelle, 

There rest and wait : — 
Soon I shall scent the yellow asphodel 

That waves its plumes about your new estate ; 
And when our hands shall meet across the golden 

bar 
Eternity, alas! will be too fleet 
In which my soul may tell 
Its love for vou — Its love for Avhat vou are! 



lU 



THE SPIRIT OF REVENGE 

By every star that holds its steady phice 
Within the sky, by every ray of light 
That beams from out the Sim's unhidden face, 
Or from the moon, upon the saddest night, 
I vow revenge as deep as yonder Sea 
On those who dare to hinder me. 

By all the Gods to Avhom the soul has prayed, 
By all the cloisters, with their sacred flame. 
By every altar where the priest has laid 
A sacrifice, to wash aw^ay his shame, 

I vow, untrammeled, as the wind that blows 
The price of blood upon my foes. 



APRIL DAWN 

Dim streaks of gray across the pale blue rim 

Of Eastern sky, when all is hushed and still ! 

Bright streaks of red the wide, gray spaces fill, 

Richer than colors of a diadem : 

Then comes the thrush's silver-fluted song 
That thrills the silence as it floats along 

When day is waking in an April hymn. 



115 



TAVILIGHT LURE 

Dim mist of sbadoAVS, lurid with the light 
Of settinji' snii, kissed hack from yonder hill : 
One pleading- note of lonely Whip-poor-will 
To welcome back her own beloved night. 
Shadow and sheen old love-ties newly plight, 
As hand of silence smooths the tnninlt still. 
The window lights my weary footsteps thrill 
And hearthstone hire awakens new delight. 

A thousand years and never yet has failed 
The evening's dowered gift of ease and rest; 
No shade of night, but every star has sailed 
Its sea of blue to islands in the West ; 

And ne'er a twilight, but S(miehow I hear 
Love's call from warm, uplifted lips of her. 



THE LOVE OF GOLD 

Ah ! men, enmeshed in the net of gold ! 

Ah ! men, be-crazed by the love of trade! 

Even while the years about you fade 
Your lingers clasj) and fondly hold 

The things of which Love is afraid. 



116 



THE DESERT'S HARVEST 

Sharp and fierce are the rays of the sun; 

And eager the desert swallows up 

The showering heat in a molten cup — 

While sands, like the waves of an ocean, run. 
Even the breeze, in a wild desire 
Is parched with the breath of fire. 

Is it a phantom the traveler sees 

There on the slope, with its brown and green 

And a silent brook that slips between 

The mossy l)ank and the shading trees? 
Yes, one mile on, and the race is won. 
From the Imrning heat and the merciless sun. 

Ah I that is the turn which the desert plays. 
The will-o-the-Avisp that hangs before 
The traveler's eyes for one mile more — 
A step, a gasp, then Death's hand stays; 
And where the sand dunes run and play 
A Soul's dead hopes are hidden away. 



117 



BROKEN IDOLS 

Since three decades, three long decades, ont where 

the coarse world swings 
In its swirl of war, of love and trade, where the 

iinte of Mammon sings, 
I walk once more by a garden wall that encircles 
the holiest things. 
The arch of heaven, jnst as of old, bends earth- 
ward over all. 
The clustered snn-rays come as full and on the 

blossoms fall: — 
From out the mass of weeds the ghosts of other 
springtimes call. 

II 

Across the field, two leagues away, the same sad 

river runs. 
Slipping between the silent hills that count the 

setting suns — 
Beyond, a stretch of withered pines stands out 
like skeletons. 
Here in the garden tangled vines in wild 

confusion grow: 
Down yonder path the dainty feet of other 

summers go — 
And here I count my losses, all, no man shall 
ever know. 



118 



The sea lies there, beyond that stretch of coral- 
colored sand; 
Whose shore line running- far is like some magic, 

mystic land — 
Whose moan is filled with sorrow, which my soul 
can understand. 
Is it her voice that mingles soft, with every 

lapping wave 
That breaks upon the beaches, there, a part of 

her young grave ! 
Or is it only wishing so for one I love and crave? 

IV 

She was fairer than the meadows, fairer than the 

April skies. 
All my world of youthful glory shone within her 

witching eyes : — 
Where she went I gladly followed, where she dwelt 
was paradise. 
But the jealous sea, enamored, longed to have 

her for his bride 
Where the nameless, sea-winged mystics in the 

coral valleys hide. 
While my soul, like Juda's master, on its cross 
was crucified. 



119 



The (lav is still afresh in iiiiiid, when I knew the 

good ship sailed : 
The flood of years, nor dnst (►f time its memory 

has assailed : 
The wonder of her love and mine, remain as then, 
nn veiled : 
But when the wreckage, whipped and torn along 

the shore was spread 
And the sole escaping sailor brcnight message 

of the dead 
The weight of Age and Donbt and Death was 
laid npon my head. 



Like exiled waters of the sea, held captive in some 

green lagoon. 
That, restless, wait in idleness beneath the sultry 

afternoon. 
Hear yonder waves dash on the rocks and long to 
mingle in their swoon 
Of wild, free life, on alien coasts; thns restless 

captive, I 
Bewail the bonds that hold me fast, that will 

not let my fly 
And find my silent dead, somehow, somewhere, 
in some new skv. 



120 



VII 

Since then I hate the treachery of every wave that 

scars the main : 
I hate its storms, I hate its calms, I hate its stern 

disdain 
Of human sorrow ; and I hate the shore that bears 
its stain ; 
For not one spot aronnd the workl by every 

clime and shore 
On which the breakers fall and seethe and wash 

and wail and roar, 
Bnt reveals some broken idol, lost to worship 
ever-more. 

VIII 

Until this grief came in my sonl, with all its 

poisoned stings 
And shadowed as some fabled bird, with black 

ill-omened wings, 
I had my god, my chnrch, my creed, my love for 
holy things: 
But now, bereft, my soul is wrapped in question- 
ing and doubt, 
I cannot fix abiding faith on aught Avithin, or 

out ; 
My anchor lost, I drift, alas ! like derelict about. 



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IX 

Is there a god who takes away the thing for which 

we yearn ? 
Who daily listens unto prayer, but who will not 

return 
Out of his wealth the simple gifts for which the 
soul may burn? 
All idols which the East has known through 

ages far away 
Have listened, all unheeding, as pagans kneel 

to pray. 
And answer not. Can I believe my God as cold 
as they? 

X 

Sometimes I think I have no God. My slender 

faith hangs by a thread. 
I look upon yon smiling sea and know that she 

is dead. 
And then I feel the frost of time grown whiter 
on my head. 
So out of all my weariness I cast about to find 
Some stay on which to rest my faith, stronger 

than man or mind : 
'Tis then to love the (dd faith more my spirit 
is inclined. 



122 



XI 

"Can all be chance? Are prayers in vain? Alas! 

are clianted creeds 
All writ to ease the soul of him, undone by cruel 

deeds, 
Are churches, altars only meant to fill the sinner's 
needs?" 
I asked my soul thus, burdened with a grief it 

could not bear : 
Somehow, unanswering silence to the pleading 

waited there, 
Somehow, I lost old human faith in life's old 
stronghold — prayer. 

XII 

All through ten thousand years and more no sun 

has yet forgot to rise — 
All through ten thousand years and more no calm 

of nightly skies 
Has yet forgot a single star — and so the destinies 
Of sun and star, the April rain and winter's 

frosted snows 
Must have some godly hand that holds the 

guiding reins and knows 
The paths of all things great or small — the path 
which each one goes. 



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I 



XIII 

There are some treasured playthings left al)Oiit this 

mansion old and gray; 
Along the garden wall still grow the sweet, old 

blossoms of her day : 
Secure I keep her pictured face, which fate nor 
death can take away. 
Along this walk I told my love, along this walk 

she told me hers; 
Beside this gate we said good-bye, where I first 

saw her tears : 
These Memory's soul has loved and kept through- 
out the wasted years. 

XIV 

The shadow falls aslant my path — 'tis there where 

dawn be-lights the skies, 
And when the twilight curtains fall along the West 

it lies: 
At night it deepens and bedims the sight of weary 
eyes; 
And yet, through all, I keep my god, my creed 

and on the altar lay 
My daily sacrifice and guard love's flame afresh 

each day: 
These fate, nor man, nor envious sea, can ever 
take away. 



124 



LIBRARY OF 



CONGRESS 



oo;5j|*i*W«, 



